Brotherhood
by Zathara001
Summary: "Got a situation I could use some help with. Are you still in Portland?" When Jacob calls for a favor, Eliot responds as only a brother can. Sequel to "Estranged."
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing to do with the Librarians or Leverage, sadly. If Dean Devlin or anyone who does own them wants anything of this, it's theirs.

"Got a situation I could use some help with. Are you still in Portland?" When Jacob calls for a favor, Eliot responds as only a brother can.

L ~ L ~ L ~ L ~ L

For the briefest of moments, Eliot Spencer almost felt sorry for the men he was following. There were four of them, and on most days, he wouldn't give them a second glance. Today, however, was not most days.

Today, these four had assaulted a friend of Eliot's, and if Eliot had one rule, it was that he protected his friends.

Because Alec Hardison had been running a personal errand when these four made the incredibly stupid decision to mug him, Eliot wasn't aware of the attack until Hardison called while the paramedics were treating his broken wrist.

"They took something, something I got for Parker," Hardison told Eliot, and that insult on top of the injury to Hardison had Eliot tracking the four down a street in Portland, Oregon, waiting for the right moment to confront them.

One block, another … Still too public, Eliot thought.

Then they turned down a side street, this one more residential, and Eliot picked up his pace. When they crossed the street at a crosswalk, he mentally dubbed them John, Ringo, Paul, and George.

There wouldn't be a better time, Eliot decided. No telling where they were going or how many others would be there when they arrived, so better to choose the place that suited him. He quickened his pace to overtake them.

George, trailing the other three, fell quickly and quietly, thanks to a punch to the base of his skull.

Ringo and Paul were walking side by side, and Eliot lunged to his left, knocking Ringo aside before throwing a punch at Paul. Paul reacted more quickly than Eliot had expected, dodging and swinging at Eliot in return.

Eliot ducked, danced back a couple of steps, felt Ringo grabbing at his left foot to try to pull him off balance.

Amateurs, he thought.

Three seconds later, Ringo and Paul had joined George in unconsciousness.

That left John for last.

Eliot scanned the street, but didn't immediately see him.

Too many cars, too many trees and shrubs. John could be hiding behind any one of them, Eliot knew.

But which one?

Eliot was just about to kneel down to search Paul and Ringo in an effort to draw John out when his cell phone rang.

Taking the call should be a good enough distraction. Eliot pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the display as he did. The caller ID displayed only one letter: J.

Eliot allowed himself a smile as he answered the call. "Yeah?"

"Hey, bro," the voice of his twin, Jake, came through the phone. "You busy?"

Bingo. Eliot sensed movement from seven o'clock – John, taking advantage of his apparent distraction. "Give me a sec."

"Sure."

Eliot barely heard Jake's reply as he spun to his left, lashing out with a kick that caught John squarely in the ribs. John staggered back and Eliot pressed forward, aiming his fist at John's throat.

John collapsed to the sidewalk with a gurgling noise.

Eliot shifted his phone to his left hand, started searching John with his right. If John really were the leader of this little band, he'd likely have the gift on him. "What's up?"

"Got a situation I could use some help with. Are you still in Portland?"

Eliot's searching fingers closed around a rectangular box, and he tugged it free of John's clothes. "Yeah. Between jobs at the moment, even. What d'you need?"

"Can you come to the St. Johns Bridge, northeast anchorage?"

"Yeah," Eliot answered, considering. This time of day, traffic shouldn't be too horrible, but he needed to get Parker's gift back to Hardison before starting the job. "Two hours?"

"See you then."

Eliot ended the call and opened the box, hoping Parker's gift was intact. Sunlight danced off its contents, and he narrowed his eyes against the glare even as he adjusted the box in his hand. Then he got a good look at what it contained: a charm made of emeralds in the shape of a dollar sign.

"Dammit, Hardison," Eliot muttered. "She likes money, not stuff."

With a shake of his head, Eliot closed the box and stood. Time to get the box to Hardison and then go see what his brother needed.

#

Eliot parked his Challenger along the pathway that circled the northeast anchorage of the St. Johns Bridge and strode up the grass toward Jake, who was leaning against the Gothic-style base of the bridge.

Jake straightened to meet him, and Eliot hugged his twin. Since their unplanned reunion a couple of months ago, they'd stayed in touch mostly by texts and calls, given the nature of their work. Their occasional in-person meetings still made Eliot's chest clench with affection. He had to think Jake felt the same way.

Jake pulled back, grinning, and nodded past Eliot's shoulder. "Mine's black."

"Boring. Like you," Eliot countered. "There a better place to park?"

"That'll do for now. C'mon."

"Where?" Eliot asked. Jake's answer was to open the door set in the base of the bridge. "Pretty sure that would be trespassing on government land."

"Remember I told you about the Library? This is the entrance to its Annex. Or one of its Annexes. Jenkins wasn't entirely clear on that."

"Jenkins?"

"You'll meet him, and the others." Jake led him through a corridor even more functionally drab than the corridors of the Pentagon.

"Almost forgot," Eliot said as he followed Jake down corridors even more dully utilitarian than those of the Pentagon. "Got something for you."

Jake paused, turned with a frown. "It's not anywhere near our birthday. Or Christmas."

"But it's the first time I've seen you since Hardison gave it to me for you." Eliot pulled a phone from an inside pocket, held it out to his brother.

Jake took it, turned it in his hand. "What's this?"

"Brand new phone," Eliot said. "More bells and whistles than any sane person will use in their lifetime – and completely encrypted."

"Thanks," Jake said. "And thank him."

"I will," Eliot agreed. "And I won't tell him you're as skeptical of it as I was."

Jake chuckled and shoved the phone in his own pocket and started walking again.

"So what's going on that you need my help?" Eliot asked. "Another empusa?"

"A party."

Eliot understood the words, but they made no sense. "How d'you need help with a party?"

"Because it's more a trap than a party," Jake answered.

"Who'd want to trap you and why?" It was a sign of just how unusual his and Jake's lives were, Eliot decided, that he didn't even question Jake's declaration.

Jake stopped, turning to face him, and Eliot read the embarrassment in Jake's expression clearly.

"When you enlisted," Jake began, "it was - a lot of things. But eventually, I realized it was a lesson. Just like you had to do what felt right to you, I had to do what felt right to me."

"You stayed, took over the family business."

"I also started writing papers on European and Native American art. I've been published in dozens of journals and popular magazines."

Eliot got the implications immediately - and not least because he hadn't found any such articles when he'd run the occasional check on his twin during the years they were apart. "You used a different name, so Pa wouldn't find out."

"Yeah." Jake started walking again. "And the invitation came to the pen name."

"Why's that a problem? You forget all your manners?"

Jake didn't answer. Instead, he made one more turn in the corridor, and Eliot found himself facing glass double doors decorated with swirling brass designs. Beyond them, Eliot saw what could have been an office in any building – a desk and worktable piled with papers and books, the only unusual items a ball of string as big as his head and a golden globe about the same size.

Exactly what he might have expected his twin's office to look like, if he'd ever thought about it.

"Ah, Mr. Stone, you're back." The voice was male – older, Eliot thought, middle American accent with hints of something else he couldn't quite place – and came from Eliot's ten o'clock.

Eliot looked in that direction, saw a snowy-haired man who might be in late middle age stepping into the room.

"I confess I didn't hear that monster engine on your way out, but –" the man stopped short, staring. "Good God, there are two of you. What happened? Was it a wishing well? Or perhaps an accident with a magical mirror –"

"Nothing like that, Jenkins," Jake said. "This is my twin brother, Eliot. Eliot, Jenkins."

"Good to meet you, Mr. Jenkins." Eliot offered his hand, all the manners his mama and the military had taught him coming back.

Jenkins took Eliot's hand, though he still wore a nonplussed expression. "I see."

The man – Jenkins – didn't seem inclined to idle conversation, so Eliot turned his attention back to Jake.

"Tell me more about this party that's a trap."

"A lot of art history scholars have been invited for a weekend of talk and discussion."

"Sounds like paradise for you," Eliot said, and it was the truth. Where he'd been the more active one, Jake had always preferred reading and deep conversation.

"Except for the trap part," Jake countered. "The host has ties to the Serpent Brotherhood."

"Serpent Brotherhood?"

"They want to use magic to rule the world," Jake said. "They've killed a lot of potential Librarians and forced the Library itself off this plane of existence."

"Bad guys," Eliot concluded.

"Yeah. We don't know that they're planning anything with this party more than a scouting mission, scoping out potential recruits, but Colonel Baird thinks we can use it for the same purpose."

"Figure out what they want by seeing who they want," Eliot said.

"Something like that." This time the intruding voice was female, with an air of command. Eliot glanced up, saw a tall blonde striding into the room. "Jacob says you're familiar with this kind of work."

"You could say that."

"And how did you acquire that familiarity? I ran a check on Eliot Stone and found nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada."

Eliot glanced at Jake. "Colonel Baird?"

Jake nodded confirmation.

Eliot gave the grin that had gotten him in trouble with his superiors more than once back when he was in the Army. "Well, Colonel, that might be because I go by Spencer."

"Mom's maiden name?" Jake asked, and Eliot realized that hadn't come up in conversation since their reunion. "Why?"

"Same reason you write under a different name," Eliot replied. It was enough of the truth for now.

Baird was already typing his name into her phone, so Eliot focused on Jake once more. "So who am I pretending to be for this?"

"Adam Sinclair, independent art historian."

Eliot stared at his brother for a long, dumbfounded moment. Then he laughed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Jake said. "I loved those books. What's so funny?"

Still chuckling, Eliot reached for his phone, tapped in a number from memory.

Hardison answered on the first ring. "Yo, Eliot. 'Sup, brah?"

"I need you to reactivate my Adam Sinclair cover," Eliot told him. Beside him, Jake looked surprised. Then he, too, laughed.

"What for?"

Hardison never could just do what he asked, Eliot reflected - unless someone's life was in immediate danger, and not always even then. "Favor for Jake."

"Okay, man. Done. You need anything else?"

Eliot did a quick mental inventory. "I'm good. Thanks." He ended the call and met Jake's grin. "What? I liked the books, too."

"That was you?" Baird asked.

"Have to be more specific, Colonel," Eliot said.

"Croatia."

"Maybe. Been there a couple of times." Eliot turned back to Jake. "When and where is this shindig, and how formal is it?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Too formal._

That was always the answer when it came to parties like this, and Eliot really should have known better than to hope this time would be different. He adjusted his tie and smoothed a hand over his head to where his hair was caught back in a ponytail before approaching the Portland Museum of Art.

Eliot surrendered his invitation to the security person at the entrance, accepted the man's, "Thank you, Dr. Sinclair. Enjoy your evening," with a nod, and stepped into the ballroom.

A couple of hundred men and women in formal dress milled about, and Eliot took a moment to scan the room for potential threats and, not coincidentally, potential exits. He hated ballrooms like these – too open, too few places to hide. It was a kill zone, if anyone were of a mind to make it one.

He could only hope no one was of that particular mind tonight.

After one final glance around the room, more out of habit than because he'd perceived any imminent threat, Eliot made his way deeper into the room.

"You always go in with this kind of gear?" Colonel Baird asked through the comm he'd given her. Jake had one, too.

"Jealous, Colonel?" Eliot asked.

"Envious. Not the same thing."

"Anyone here you particularly wanted to talk to?" Eliot asked, turning his body as he moved through the crowd, hoping the miniature camera in his tie-bar was providing a clear image for Jake.

"Only everybody," Jake answered with a chuckle. "But I'm not there."

"I am," Eliot said. "And you can feed me questions and hear their answers. Not as good as you being here, but better than nothing."

"I'd have to go by nametags," Jake said. "Most academics don't have their pictures printed with their articles."

"So give me a name, and I'll try to find them," Eliot said. "Give me something to do."

Jake didn't hesitate. "Charles Whitmore from Harvard."

Feeling much better with an objective, even if an arbitrary one, Eliot moved through the crowd murmuring greetings as he went.

Through the comm, he heard Jake and Colonel Baird talking about what the Serpent Brotherhood might want, what their long-term plan could be. Eliot let their voices fade to background noise as he searched for Charles Whitmore. It would've helped, he thought, if he had anything besides the name to go by, but he'd done harder things with less information than that.

He kept moving, kept scanning nametags, pausing only once to grab a glass from the bar. He didn't intend to drink on this job, but having a glass in his hand helped him blend in.

One name made him backtrack a couple of steps and double-check that he had, in fact, read it correctly.

"Shit. Maggie," he muttered. Of course she'd be at an event like this.

"Who's Maggie?" Baird asked in his ear.

"Jake, need you outside the Museum," Eliot said, ignoring the question. The colonel would have her answer in a minute anyway. "East side."

"On my way," Jake replied.

Eliot snaked through the few people between him and Maggie.

"Dr. Collins?" He pitched his voice to carry to her, and she turned with a smile that turned puzzled. "Adam Sinclair. I don't know if you remember me?"

Please, Eliot said to himself. Please let Maggie be as sharp as he remembered her being.

"Of course I remember," she said. "I hadn't expected you to be here tonight."

"Wouldn't miss it," Eliot assured her, then gave the group she was talking with a good-old-boy grin. "You don't mind if I borrow Dr. Collins? I need her expert opinion on something."

He didn't bother to wait for a reply, instead taking Maggie's elbow to urge her to walk with him.

"What's going on, Eliot?" she murmured as they made their way through the crowd back toward the entrance. "Are Nate and the others here?"

"No, just me, doing a favor for someone." Now that there was someone besides himself at risk, Eliot found himself on edge, far more alert for threats than he had been on his way in.

"Can I help?"

"Truthfully, Maggie, I don't know. What I do know is this place could be dangerous for you."

"And everyone else here?" she asked.

"Yes," Eliot agreed. "But I don't have to face their friends and say I could've gotten them out and didn't."

Beside him, Maggie gave a small sigh. "I want to be strong and stubborn and tell you I don't deserve special treatment. But if you're concerned, I'll go back to my hotel."

"No, not yet," Eliot said. "They may know where you're staying. Someone will meet you outside – you can trust him."

"How will I know him? Is there a code phrase?"

Eliot couldn't help chuckling. "No, you'll know him when you see him. Promise."

Maggie gave him a skeptical glance, but nodded. "I know not to underestimate you. Will you tell me what this is about, when you can?"

"Sure thing," Eliot said. "Jake, you ready?"

"I'm here." His twin's voice reassured him.

Eliot stopped, turned to face Maggie. "Okay. When you leave, head for the east side of the building. I'm not going to walk you out and then come back in – that'll look too much like I'm trying to get you out of here."

"But you are," Maggie pointed out.

"I am, but I don't want to draw too much attention to it. Slap me and storm out."

Maggie gave him an even more dubious look. "Because that won't draw attention to you."

"A better kind of attention. C'mon, Maggie." Eliot gave her an intentionally leering look. "Need more provocation?"

"That look does not suit you."

"So slap it off my face," Eliot suggested. "You know you want to."

"I really don't, but I will if I have to."

 _She telegraphs her moves. Have to work on that._ Even though he could've blocked the blow easily, without hurting Maggie in the process, Eliot let her slap him. The crack of her hand meeting his cheek cut across the room.

"Pretty good," he murmured low enough that only she could hear him. Then he raised a hand to cover the stinging imprint of her palm and faded into his character once more. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Collins, I didn't mean –"

"Yes, you did," Maggie snapped back. "Good night, Dr. Sinclair.""

She whirled and made for the exit. She wasn't running, wasn't even walking fast, but rather like someone who knew where she was going and intended to get there with all due speed. Eliot watched her go, still rubbing his jaw, affecting an expression of surprise.

The security man on duty gave him a sympathetic look, and Eliot quirked one shoulder in a half-shrug.

"Got her," Jake's voice came quietly in his ear. Then he spoke more loudly. "Dr. Collins, over here. I'm Jacob."

Eliot reminded himself to congratulate Hardison. The comms were sensitive enough that he heard Maggie's gasp even though she must've been a couple of steps away from Jake. "Tell Eliot we're going to have a long talk when this is over."

"Yes, ma'am," Jake said. "But for now, let's get you someplace safe."

Eliot allowed himself to relax when there were no sounds of immediate attack or other pursuit through his comm. Maggie was safe, and he could get back to his job.

He turned back toward the gathering, came up short when he found himself facing a dark-skinned woman wearing a formal gown and a sultry smile.

"Hello, cowboy."

The woman's flirty familiarity suggested she'd met Jake before. Eliot gave her a flirty grin in return and hoped Jake or Baird had heard enough to know who she was and clue him in.

Baird gave him the facts. "Lamia. High in the Serpent Brotherhood, maybe second in command."

But it was Jake who gave him context. "Trouble but not the fun kind. She tried to kill me with a sword."

"And you almost let her flirting go to your head, Stone," Baird snapped back.

"You really are Eliot's brother, aren't you?" Maggie sounded amused.

Eliot let their voices fade from his conscious awareness. His attention focused on the woman in front of him.

"Hello, darlin'," he said. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Oh, not that surprising," the woman – Lamia, Baird had said, and the name sounded familiar though Eliot couldn't place why. "Not when this was planned with you in mind."

"Helluva party," Eliot observed. "But it's not my birthday."

"That's not the only reason to have a party, is it?" Lamia asked. "But I wanted the chance to talk, without others listening in."

"Your others or my others?"

"Both, of course." She gave him another sultry smile, and nodded toward the room. "I find such talks go better with a drink. Join me?"

Eliot already had a drink in his hand, but he smiled anyway. "Of course."

He trailed a step or two behind Lamia as she threaded the crowd, taking the opportunity to murmur, "Talk to me."

"Not much else to tell," Jake's voice came through clearly. "Last time we met, she said I was special. Didn't elaborate. But she's one of the ones who broke into the Library, one of the reasons why it's gone."

"Tries to kill you, then throws a party to draw you out. Could be another attempt."

"Could be," Baird agreed. "See if you can find out anything from her."

Well, of course he would, Eliot thought, then closed the distance between him and Lamia, who had already reached the bar and turned with a glass in each hand.

"Refresh your drink?" she asked.

Eliot glanced down at the untouched glass of champagne he held, then smiled at her. "I'm good, thanks. What do you want to talk about?"

Lamia set one glass back on the bar. "Shall we step outside?"

"Nothing wrong with right here," Eliot countered. "Or just there by the potted palm."

Lamia smiled again, and this time there was a predatory edge to it. "And what if I told you that if you don't come outside with me, someone in this crowd will die?"

Eliot gave her the same smile. "I'd say it'll be two. Whoever you order killed, and you."

Her polished façade faltered. "What?"

"I can't stop you from having someone in the crowd killed if you choose to," Eliot said. "I can stop you from doing it again. So let's pretend to be civilized people and chat here. Less likely to be overheard in a crowd, anyway."

Lamia blinked, and this time her smile was more amused than seductive. She lifted her glass. "Well played, Jacob Stone."

Eliot touched his glass to hers, then waited while she sipped. If he knew more about her, he might press her for conversation, but as he'd learned from watching Tara Cole at work in Kiev years ago, people tended to fill a silence with their own fears and projections. What, he wondered, would Lamia's be?

"The last time we met," she said, "I said you're special."

Jake snorted in Eliot's ear. "Special, right. She said she didn't get out the katana to kill just anyone."

Eliot filed that information away. "Special enough that you'd use a katana to kill me."

"I didn't tell you why," Lamia said. "Not with Dulaque right there."

"He's the leader of the Brotherhood," Baird murmured.

"He here now?" Eliot made a show of scanning the room, though he had no idea what Dulaque looked like.

"This is to scout other candidates for Librarians – he intends to kill all of you."

"Of course he does," Eliot said. "And you're planning ahead to see who the replacements might be."

"That's what I told him. And of course I told him there was a chance you'd be here." Lamia paused, took another sip of her wine. "He wanted me to kill you if you came."

Eliot grinned. "You going to try to?"

"If I wanted to, I would already have done it. No, I want to make you an offer."

Eliot raised his glass to his lips, pretended to take a sip, waiting for her to fill the silence.

"I want you to lead the Serpent Brotherhood."

It was a good thing he'd only been pretending to sip his drink, Eliot thought. Otherwise he might have choked. In his ear, both Jake and Baird were sputtering.

Another lesson he'd learned: show interest, but be non-committal until they provide more information. "The Brotherhood already has a leader, doesn't it?"

Lamia's mouth thinned. "Not as good as we've had in the past."

"Even so - why me?"

"You were born to it."

Eliot felt his smile harden. "You'll want to explain that."

"It's quite simple," Lamia said. "You're descended from a prior Master of the Brotherhood through both of your parents."

Eliot wondered the same thing Jake was asking in his ear. "Is it hereditary, then?"

"It hasn't always been." Which wasn't a confirmation so much as a suggestion, Eliot thought.

"Blood's not a reliable indicator of anything," Eliot observed. "Just look at any hereditary monarchy."

"No," Lamia agreed. "But it is a convenient excuse, and a rallying point for others."

"You got a problem with the current Master?"

"She's been absolutely loyal to him until now," Baird said through the comm.

"More of a potential problem," Lamia said. "One that I don't believe I'll have with you."

Jake snorted in Eliot's ear. "She'll have a whole new batch of problems with me."

"I don't know what to say," Eliot told Lamia, since neither Jake nor Baird seemed to be giving him a hint.

And they still weren't, even with that prompt. He was going to have to have a long talk with Colonel Baird when he got back.

"Say yes, of course," Lamia said.

Eliot gave her a bland smile. "Or?"

"More like _and_." Lamia took a step forward, into Eliot's personal space.

He let her, though he readied for a fight. But her body language was relaxed, her look sultry. Then she was leaning toward him, lifting her mouth to his.

If Lamia had meant the kiss to be seductive, then she had a lot to learn, Eliot thought. Or maybe he just wasn't into her. Either way, the one time he'd had to kiss Sophie Devereaux to sell part of a con had more passion than this kiss did.

Still, he smiled at Lamia when the kiss ended. "I'll be in touch."

"Don't wait too long, darling," she countered. "The offer does have an expiry date."

"I'm sure it does," Eliot murmured, then turned to put his drink aside and make his way toward the door.

He didn't allow himself to relax until he was three blocks away from the museum – in the opposite direction of where he'd left Jake and Baird earlier – and absolutely certain he wasn't being followed.

"Come get me," Eliot said then. "We have planning to do."

#

"What kind of planning?" Baird demanded as soon as Eliot was in the back seat of the station wagon – and really, a station wagon? – they'd brought. She pulled away from the curb almost before he'd closed his door.

Eliot ignored her question in favor of looking at Maggie, who shared the back seat with him. "Sorry to ruin your evening."

"It wasn't a total loss," Maggie answered. "Life's always interesting when your crew's around."

"They're not," Eliot replied. "Nate and Sophie are on a round the world cruise."

"And Parker and Hardison?"

Eliot grinned. "They're in Portland, just not on the job. Want to see them?"

Maggie smiled back. "Love to."

"This is not a family reunion," Baird declared.

"No," Eliot agreed. "It's a mission planning session, and I'm not gonna let Maggie get caught in the crossfire."

"We can plan at the Annex," Baird said.

"Not unless you want to tell Dr. Collins everything," Jake said.

Eliot caught a glimpse of Baird's frustrated expression in the rear-view mirror, but she sounded marginally less annoyed when she said, "Where, then?"

"Bridgeport Brewpub," Eliot answered.

"You'll tell me at least something," Maggie said. "You promised."

"I did," Eliot agreed.

"You shouldn't have." Baird sounded as annoyed as any of Eliot's superiors had when their orders were questioned, and Eliot treated her exactly as he'd treated them. He ignored her, instead focusing on Maggie.

"Can't tell you everything," he said, "but the people hosting that party aren't on the side of the angels. Tonight was recon to see if we could figure out what they're up to."

"But you thought it was dangerous enough to get me out of there," Maggie said.

"We had no idea how dangerous it might've gotten. You can be mad at me all you want, but I ain't apologizing for getting you out of an unknown situation."

"I'm not mad, and you don't have to apologize," Maggie said. "What I am is confused. Why are we going to a brewpub?"

Eliot smiled. "Because that's where Parker and Hardison are."


	3. Chapter 3

The brewpub's back room looked more like a frat party than a base of operations, Eliot thought. Parker and Hardison had been ecstatic to see Maggie again, and that enthusiasm had spread to include Jake and, once she was introduced as Jake's friend and co-worker, Colonel Baird.

Baird tried her best to look stern and take control of the group, presumably so they could get to the planning Eliot knew needed to be done, but Parker and Hardison ignored her even more than they ignored Eliot, too wrapped up in the excitement of seeing Maggie again to be distracted by something as boring as a job.

So he'd slipped out of the back room and into the pub proper, taking a beer from behind the bar and then sitting on the same stool he'd sat on when Jake had come back into his life after a couple of decades apart.

Eventually, the party in the back would settle down, they'd get Maggie settled for the night, whether back at her hotel or someplace else, and then he and Jake would have to have a serious talk. Baird would want in on that discussion, too, if Eliot wasn't mistaken - but there were parts of it that were for him and Jake alone.

Eliot didn't look up when Baird took the stool next to his. She wasn't a threat right now. She might be, at some point in the future, but she wasn't now. Now she was a comrade of sorts, who told the bartender, "I'll have whatever he's having," and then stared silently at the bottle in front of her.

The silence meant that Eliot had no distraction from his thoughts. He wasn't looking forward to the parts of the discussion that were for him and Jake alone. Those parts involved family and obligations he'd walked away from, but Jake hadn't.

"You have to talk to Jacob." Baird's voice cut through his musings.

Eliot made a sound he hadn't known he was capable of - somewhere between a laugh and a snort. "You're telling me. The Brotherhood, that offer -"

"No," Baird said, and the sharp command in her tone brought Eliot fully back to the present. "You have to tell him what you do."

"What I _did_ ," Eliot corrected her. Then, "He already knows."

"Does he?" Now Baird sounded skeptical.

The question sent a flash of memory through him, a snatch of conversation from the night he and Jake had been reunited.

 _"Those bad things," Jacob said. "Did you do them for good people to bad people?_

 _"The other way around."_

"In broad outline," Eliot said. Then he fixed her with a look that had made hardened killers flinch. "He doesn't need to know the details."

He found some respect for Baird when she didn't back down. "Doesn't he?"

"No, he doesn't. I ain't that guy anymore." Then honesty compelled him to add, "Usually."

Baird's eyebrows shot up. "Usually? It's not something you can turn on and off."

"There are six people in the world I'd become that guy again for, if I had to, to protect them. Four of 'em are sitting in that room back there."

"And the other two?"

"You heard what I told Maggie. They're on a round-the-world cruise."

"Hm." It was barely an acknowledgment, and Eliot gave a silent sigh. Baird was tougher than he'd expected, but that was okay. He was tougher still.

"Would you be so judgmental if I were still doing those same things for the US of A?" he asked. "'Cause I did. I did for years, until they didn't want guys like me anymore. And I didn't know anything else, so I kept doing those things for other people, and yes for the money, until -"

Eliot broke off. Baird didn't need to know all the details. He blew out a breath. "Let's just say I did something I shouldn't have done, something nobody should've done, and I swore I'd never do it again. So I put down my gun and started going after things, not people."

"Mmm." This time, it was more than an acknowledgment, it was also acceptance, however grudging. He'd take it, he decided, and took another swallow of his beer.

He wasn't expecting Baird to speak again, but she took a breath that sounded like she had something important to say, so he looked up at her just as she opened her mouth.

"Is it a problem that Jake and Dr. Collins are getting along?"

Eliot felt his eyebrows pulling together. "Why would it be?" Then the answer occurred to him and he laughed. "Nah, me and Maggie aren't like that. Could've been, but aren't."

"Uh-huh." Baird sounded skeptical.

"Look, she's my former boss's ex. I didn't know that when I met her, but when I found out, it pretty much ended anything that might've been between us."

"But she's one of the ones you'd … protect."

"Die for or kill for," Eliot agreed. "She's a friend, that's all. And if she and Jake get along - well, I can't say I wouldn't love to be there when Nate finds out."

Eliot grinned at the image in his mind, drained the last of his beer. Baird's bottle was empty, too, and he gathered both of them, took them to the recycling bin in the back. When he returned, the party seemed to be ending, because Parker, Hardison, Jake and Maggie were all gathered at the bar with Baird.

"It was good to meet you, Colonel," Maggie was saying. The two women shook hands, and then Maggie turned to smile at Parker and Hardison. "And good to see you two."

"Now you know where we are, don't be a stranger, 'kay?" Hardison said. Parker just stood beside him, her mouth turned down in a hint of a frown.

"I don't get up to Portland often, but I'll stop in when I do, I promise," Maggie told him. Then she turned to Eliot, a soft, wry smile on her face. "Thanks for saving me. Again. Even if there wasn't really a threat."

"'S what I do, Mags," Eliot told her, and was rewarded by a hug.

"Just because I'm grateful doesn't mean I'm not also surprised you have a twin."

"You found out before Nate. And Sophie," Eliot added.

Maggie chuckled. "That's something, I suppose."

"Cab's here," Hardison said.

"That's my cue." Maggie let go of Eliot, turned to smile at Jake. "Thank you for helping Eliot."

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Collins." Jake offered his hand, and Maggie took it with a smile. Eliot hid his own when he saw a faint blush creep across his twin's cheek.

"I'll walk you out," Parker said, and grabbed Maggie's arm.

"Don't terrorize the cabbie, Parker," Eliot warned - though, judging by the airy wave she gave him without looking back, it was a wasted effort.

"So," Hardison began. He fixed each of them with a glare in turn. "Y'all want to tell me what y'all have been up to that required you stealing my earbuds and ended up with you bringing Maggie here?"

From the corner of his eye, Eliot saw Baird sit back on her stool, clearly giving him the floor. Beside him, Jake just grinned at him. Cowards, he thought without heat.

Eliot gave a casual shrug. "Helping Jake out with some recon, that's all."

"Uh-huh." Hardison couldn't have sounded more disbelieving if he'd tried, Eliot thought.

"It had to do with the Library," Jake put in. "And its enemies."

"Wait - the Library has _enemies_?" Hardison stared at him. "That is messed up."

"They know about the Library?" Baird asked. "Stone -"

"'S cool," Hardison said. "Just confirmation of rumors, that's all."

"Do we need to steal a library?"

Eliot bit back a grin when Jake jumped.

"Huh," Parker observed from where she stood at Jake's elbow. "I can startle you."

"Moving that quietly will startle anyone, darlin'," Jake observed.

"Not Eliot," Parker declared. "Are we stealing a library?"

"No, Parker, we're not stealing a library," Eliot said. "Might be stealing a Brotherhood, though."

"But you already have a brother. Why do you need to steal another one?"

After all these years, Eliot was somewhat accustomed to Parker's particular brand of crazy literalness. "Brotherhood like an organization, not the relationship."

"Oh." Parker considered that for a moment. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"What are you talking about?" Baird demanded.

"That offer Lamia made," Eliot said. "We take it, we might be stealing the Serpent Brotherhood."

"Serpent Brotherhood?" Hardison repeated. "Sounds like something out of an 80's video game."

"They're real," Jake said. "And not on the side of the angels."

"Pull up whatever you've got on them. And -" Eliot hesitated, glanced at Jake. Jake nodded, once, not even a millimeter's movement, but Eliot read the assent anyway. "And everything you can find on our family history."

Hardison blinked but, for once, made no smart-ass remarks. That was good, Eliot thought, because Hardison needed his fingers to type.

"Okay, then," Hardison said. "Get comfortable, y'all, 'cause this could take a while."


	4. Chapter 4

_A while_ had become a late dinner - thank God for a brewpub's fully stocked kitchen - and a serious dent in the beer inventory, but eventually Hardison called them all back to what he'd taken to calling the command center.

Eliot privately snorted at the name. He'd been in real command centers, and not one of them had been nearly as comfortable as the brewpub's back room.

"All right," Hardison began. "This is the short version, but I'm warning y'all, given we're talking about two thousand years of history, even the short version is kinda long."

"Should be interesting," Jake muttered to Baird, but loud enough that everyone else could hear.

Eliot took his normal seat beside Parker and nodded. "Get on with it."

"Far as I can tell," Hardison began, "the Serpent Brotherhood's been around as long as the Library has. Where the Library - specifically its Librarians," he added with a nod toward Jake and Baird, "are charged with keeping magical artifacts contained, the Brotherhood wants to release them all into the world."

"Good," Parker said. "I like magic. And fairy tales. And Santa."

"Not calling him Santa," Baird said with an emphasis that made Eliot resolve to ask Jake for the story sometime.

"The problem is," Jake said, "that adding magic to the world will cripple technology."

"How so?" Parker asked.

"You remember your high school history classes, right?" Jake asked.

"I didn't go to high school," Parker said, and from her it was just a statement of fact.

Jake blinked, and Eliot felt a surge of pride when his twin didn't ask questions and - more to the point - didn't talk down to Parker when he continued, "Fair enough. But magic was strongest in the world before the Industrial Revolution, when technology was minimal. They're opposites, and where one flourishes, the other suffers."

"So find the right balance," Parker said, and Eliot had to admit that this time, her crazy had a certain amount of logic to it.

"Who gets to decide what the right balance is?" Jake asked. "More to the point, magic's chaotic by its very nature. You can't pick and choose what stays and what goes. You might want to keep antibiotics and open-heart surgery, but you might lose the Internet and the internal combustion engine. Or you might lose it all, get back to the days before the spinning Jenny and have to do everything by hand. How are you at spinning, Parker?"

"Spinning what?"

"Moving on," Hardison said, and Eliot refocused on him. "It's not like there's a detailed history - not one online, anyway, even I can't hack actual paper books - but it seems like the Brotherhood and the Librarians have been skirmishing back and forth since at least the days of the Library at Alexandria."

"How are you even finding that much?" Baird demanded.

"Dark net," Hardison replied. "And more conspiracy theorist websites than you want to know exist. But I found one reference that's pretty interesting in its own right."

Hardison touched a button on his remote control and the image on the giant screens shifted to a selection of medieval themed paintings - knights on horseback and ladies in flowing gowns.

"There's a suggestion that during the days of King Arthur, there was a big battle."

"Of course," Jake said. "There's a consensus that Arthur lived during the last days of Roman Britain, and there were all kinds of battles between the Romans and the native populations."

"But _this_ battle wasn't about that," Hardison said. "The text seems to refer to some artifact or something and who would own or control it."

"Where'd you find that?" Jake demanded.

"Here." The image changed to a photograph of what looked like an ancient illuminated manuscript, and Eliot sat forward.

"Looks like Latin," he observed. "The style suggests late antiquity."

Baird gave him a suspicious glance. "How do you know that?"

"I said I retrieved things," Eliot replied. "Some of them were very old and very valuable."

Baird nodded, still suspicious because it wasn't really an explanation and Eliot hadn't intended it as such, and said, "What does it say, Stone?"

"Paraphrasing," Jake said, "two new knights arrived at Arthur's court, one representing a Brotherhood and one representing an archive. Both wanted Arthur's assistance. No. Both wanted Arthur's support in … something. It's very poetic phrasing, so not very informative."

"What happened?" Baird asked.

"Arthur didn't help either knight," Jake answered. "He said their concerns were not his, but both were welcome at the Round Table."

"Why does this matter to Happy Eliot and Grumpy Eliot?" Parker asked, and Eliot offered a silent thanks that she had, because it saved him asking the same question.

"That's where it gets interesting, Mama." Hardison grinned, then focused on Eliot and Jake. "I started tracing your family history. Did you know Stone is one of the earliest recorded surnames?"

Eliot glanced at Jake. His twin shrugged. Eliot looked at Hardison once more. "And?"

Hardison snorted. "Y'all got no appreciation for history, I tell ya. So I won't bore you with all the details. Turns out, there's one branch of the Stone family that didn't take their name from some rock they lived by. Instead, the name was given as a sign of honor, a nickname to honor their loyalty and bravery. That's the branch y'all are descended from."

Eliot met Jake's gaze again. His twin shook his head slightly, apparently as confused as Eliot felt.

"Dad'll find that … interesting, but irrelevant," Jake observed.

"There's more," Hardison said. "The other side of the family, the Spencer family, is far more famous - Winston Churchill, Princess Diana, the poet Edmund Spensur, more earls and barons than you can shake a stick at. Anyway, we can trace the name directly back to the 1100s. Before that, it's a French name that can be traced back as far back as people were using surnames."

"What does this have to do with why Lamia thinks Jake's special?" Eliot asked.

"Getting back to that Arthurian tale," Hardison said. "Those two knights remained at odds with each other, even at Arthur's court. Then one of them fell in love with Arthur's queen. Y'all probably know the rest."

"Lancelot," Jake said. "His love for Guinevere brought down Camelot."

"Exactly," Hardison said. "And to tie all this up with a neat little bow, old Spencer family legends claim they're descended from Lancelot, and guess which one of Arthur's knights was rewarded for his strength and loyalty?"

Eliot tapped fuzzy memories of the Arthurian legends from his high school literature classes and said, "Galahad?"

"Give the man a kewpie doll," Hardison said. "And some of the legends say Galahad is the son of Lancelot. So both sides of your family are descended from Lancelot."

"Du Lac," Jake said.

"Right, Lancelot du Lac," Hardison said.

"No." Jake looked away from Eliot to Baird. "Dulaque."

"Dulaque," Baird repeated. "You don't think …?"

"I don't know what to think." Jake sound lost.

"I do," Eliot said. Jake and Baird turned to him, confused and curious at the same time. "I think it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" Hardison repeated, sounding mortally affronted. "What the hell do you mean, it doesn't matter?"

"I mean it doesn't matter, Hardison," Eliot said, never taking his gaze from Jake and Baird. "We've gotten distracted. The only question that matters is, do you want to take over the Brotherhood? We've got a chance to do it with relatively little bloodshed if you do. That chance might not come around again."

Jake exchanged a startled glance with Baird, but neither spoke.

Eliot's mouth quirked. "Let me know when you figure it out."

#

Baird hauled Jake out of the brewpub a few minutes later, with barely enough civility for Jake to say, "I'll call you," before they were gone.

Eliot waited the rest of that night and through the next morning. Around noon, he almost called Jake himself, but reminded himself this wasn't his fight. Even if he did have as much claim to lead the Serpent Brotherhood as Jake did, the offer had been made to Jake, so it was Jake's decision to make.

So he tried to put the entire situation out of his mind, taking over for one of the prep cooks who'd called in sick, chopping and dicing the ingredients for the brewpub's menu.

It was soothing, the steady rhythm of his knife chopping through vegetables, almost meditative, and Eliot let himself get lost in it, so much that he almost didn't realize Amy had come into the kitchen.

You're getting too comfortable here,he told himself even as he looked up to see what Amy wanted.

"Your brother's here," she told him.

Eliot wiped his hands and joined Jake at a far table. A bottle of his favorite beer was waiting for him, and he took a swallow when he sat down.

Jake was silent for long moments even after Eliot sat, and that could mean only one thing.

"You decided not to take down the Brotherhood."

"It should be Flynn's decision," Jake said. Eliot raised an eyebrow at him, and he added, "Flynn's the head Librarian."

"Should be," Eliot repeated. "Not is? Or was?"

"Should be," Jake confirmed. "If he were around to make it."

"Where is he?" Eliot asked. "The Brotherhood get him?"

"He's searching for a way to bring the Library back – long story, and not really relevant. The point is, in his absence, Jenkins and Baird don't think we should take that kind of risk."

"Not like it's that big a risk," Eliot had to point out. "Not when high-ups are on our side."

"That's not how they look at it."

Eliot grunted, his thoughts wandering to the colonel and the older man he'd met. "You said there were others. When I met you at the Annex. You said I'd meet Jenkins and the others, but the only other I met was Colonel Baird. Who are the other others?"

"Cassandra Cillian and Ezekiel Jones – apprentice Librarians, like me."

"What do they think?"

Jake shook his head and took another swallow of his beer. "Jones is up for anything, or so he says, but he won't go against Baird. And Cassie – I can't trust Cassie in this."

"Why not?"

"She's the reason the Library's gone in the first place," Jake said. "She sold out the Library to the Brotherhood."

"She have a reason?" Eliot asked.

"Yeah, she did – or she thought she did."

"But she's a Librarian now."

"Yeah." Jake sounded resigned.

Eliot understood loyalty – he'd lived and come closer to dying by it than he'd ever intended. So he didn't give loyalty easily – but once he did, it stayed given. This Cassandra Cillian hadn't done that. It wasn't difficult to understand why Jake didn't trust her.

"Even setting that aside," Jake added, "she wouldn't go against Baird, either. Too timid."

"You got outvoted."

"Yeah." Jake downed the last of his beer.

Eliot drained his, too, and sat in easy silence with his twin for a few minutes. Then, "You agree with them?"

"No."

"But you're not gonna rock the boat."

Jake's silence was answer enough.

#

Eliot understood the reasoning behind his twin's decision, even if he didn't agree with it.

Come to think of it, Eliot mused as he ran a damp mop over the brewpub's floor, he rarely agreed with his twin on anything besides the Sooners, and that was even before they'd been separated for twenty years.

Still, in this moment, he understood. From what Jake said, these Librarians, and even the Colonel, were too new at their jobs to feel confident with something as big as overthrowing the Serpent Brotherhood in a coup from within. He'd been that uncertain once, a long time ago, only he'd had a captain to look to and draw confidence from. These Librarians (in training, Jake added) had no captain and therefore no unexpected well of confidence.

In this game of chicken, they were flinching.

Eliot understood, even if he didn't agree, and even if the decision angered him.

The realization startled him. Why was he angry? He ran the mop around a supporting wall, pondering his emotion and its source. When the answer arrived, it came with a flash of the obvious.

 _If you can disable an enemy, do it. Never leave an enemy strong enough to counter-attack._

Dammit.

He finished his task, returned the mop to its place, and surveyed the kitchen, more from habit than any real thought that something might be left undone or out of place. His staff were already professionals when he'd taken over as executive chef - he'd only raised their standards a little.

"You about done, Amy?" he asked the dark-haired woman at the cash register. She'd started as a server, and after she'd helped Parker foil a robbery-turned-kidnapping, Parker had started giving her more responsibilities at the brewpub until now she was the night manager - and _ad hoc_ member of the Leverage, Inc., crew.

"Yes," Amy answered. "Just finalizing the deposit slip for tomorrow."

Eliot waited while she finished, then took the day's receipts from her and put the bundle in the safe - a Glenn Reeder something that Parker approved of and Hardison reinforced. It was, Eliot thought, probably the most un-crackable, un-hackable safe that ever existed.

By the time he re-locked the safe, Amy had gathered her purse and had her car keys at the ready as he'd shown her. Since she'd almost been kidnapped, he'd worked with her on some basic self-defense. She wasn't in his league, of course, nor even Parker's, but Amy would be a lot harder to kidnap now.

Eliot walked with her to the back door, watched as she crossed the parking lot and got into her car. It wasn't until the engine started and she was pulling out of her parking space that he secured the back door of the brewpub and began a final check to be sure the property was secure for the night.

He'd barely crossed the kitchen before his instincts screamed that something wasn't right. Someone was in the brewpub who shouldn't be there.

Eliot slipped into old habits without thinking, and silently moved from shadow to shadow as he moved forward. Through the cutaway from the kitchen to the restaurant, he caught a glimpse of chocolaty skin and dark hair. Someone sat at the bar. He crept to the doorway connecting the kitchen to the restaurant and paused.

From the doorway, Eliot studied the woman sitting at the bar. She looked just as calm and poised as she had at the museum gala a few nights ago, only now instead of wearing a formal gown, she'd opted for tailored slacks and a blazer over a clingy top.

The better to try to seduce me with? Eliot wondered. Then he put the thought aside and said, "The pub's closed."

Lamia didn't start, only turned to him with a slight smile. "The door wasn't locked."

"In the same way that if you can pry something loose, it wasn't nailed down?"

"Now you're just quibbling over details."

"Why are you here?"

"Buy me a drink and let's talk."

Eliot lingered in the doorway a moment longer, scanning the dining area one last time. Satisfied that they were, in fact, alone, he crossed to the bar. "What're you in the mood for?"

"Surprise me."

For a moment, he considered pouring her a thief juice special, but she hadn't done anything to him to warrant that kind of response. Instead, he selected a Willamette pinot noir and poured a glass for each of them.

Lamia took a sip, then gave him a smile that looked more genuine than it probably was. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you have excellent taste in wine."

"Glad you like it." Eliot took a sip himself, then waited for her to bring up what she wanted to talk about.

"What would you say if I made the same offer to you?"

Eliot smirked. "Technically, you did make the offer to me."

"I thought you were your brother when I made the offer," Lamia countered smoothly. "I had no expectation he'd actually accept."

"You think I will?"

"I think you might. Not because you actually want the job, but to protect him." Lamia slanted her gaze toward him beneath lowered lids. "You would do that, wouldn't you? And more."

A flash of long-ago conversation came unbidden to Eliot's mind.

 _"What's in it for you?"_

 _"He used my son."_

At the time, and all the time until now, Eliot thought he'd understood what Nathan Ford meant. But he hadn't. He hadn't understood the pure rage that swelled like a balloon when someone - a stranger - touched your deepest emotions and used them against you. He hadn't understood that at all. Until now.

"Y'might want to consider your words, darlin'." Eliot let just a little of that rage color his tone. "Because if you're threatening Jake, this conversation's about to turn impolite."

"Give me some credit, cowboy," Lamia said. "I'm merely saying that Dulaque can be quite ruthless. If you take over the Brotherhood, he won't be a threat to Jacob – or anyone else."

Something in the way she said the last few words made Eliot ask, "Including you?"

Rather than answer, she took another sip of wine.

"I thought you were his right hand?"

Lamia's lips thinned and she looked down at her glass. Then she let out a breath and looked up to meet Eliot's eyes. "Including me."

"Why is he a threat to you?"

"Because I love him."

That made no sense, and Eliot frowned at her, prompting her for more.

"Some magic requires a sacrifice," Lamia explained. "And of those, the more emotion involved, the better."

It was Eliot's turn to blow out a breath. "He'll kill you if he feels he has to."

"I didn't want to believe it at first, but I've seen how he can be. Yes, he will." Lamia leaned forward, resting her forearms on the bar. "So, yes, it is self-preservation, but not just self-preservation."

Eliot nodded his acknowledgement, took another swallow of wine. Lamia's original offer was to Jake, so Eliot had deferred to his twin's decision. Now she made the same offer to him, and he had to make his own decision.

It was an easy one.

"All right," he said. "How do we do this?"

Lamia blinked. "So quickly?"

Eliot grinned at her. "Decision's easy. Doing's the challenge."

"And you like a challenge." She smiled, slow and seductive, and Eliot might have believed she meant the seduction if she hadn't told him that she loved Dulaque.

"I don't back down from a challenge," Eliot corrected her. "I need his plans - where's he going to be and when over the next month. And I need the locations of your headquarters and any other bases he frequents."

Lamia stared at him, and his lips twitched upward at her befuddled expression.

"I do my own recon, darlin'," he told her. "Just get me the basics."

"It's traditional to challenge -" she began, but he shook his head.

"You want me to do this, we do it my way."

She studied him a long moment. "All right, your way. Just remember that without the challenge, some of the Brotherhood may not accept you as their leader."

"All right, I'll challenge Dulaque," Eliot said. "I still need intel. Going into this blind is a good way to end up dead - and while that might be your plan, it ain't mine."


	5. Chapter 5

Parker and Hardison returned just after midnight. Eliot looked up from the laptop as they came into the command center. Parker's hair was tucked back into her black leather cap, and Hardison looked a little green.

"Have fun jumping off buildings?" Eliot asked.

"Only one building," Parker said. "The Wells Fargo building, and it's not like I haven't jumped off that one before."

"Long time for just one jump."

"Pacifica Bank's opening a new branch," Hardison said, and his voice sounded almost normal. "Parker wanted to check out its security."

"Don't put your money there," Parker said. "New branch, maybe, but the same old Pacifica security measures. You'd think they'd upgrade."

"Naw, Mama, I told you - they want everything centralized." Hardison said, then frowned at Eliot. "Why are you touching my laptop?"

"It's not your laptop," Eliot said. "Yours is right over there where it always is. This is my laptop. I know how to turn it on, and I even know how to use Google."

"A three-year-old can figure that out," Hardison said. "Whatever you're looking for, let the master do his work."

"It's an off-books job," Eliot said.

"Those are the best kind." Parker dropped onto the sofa next to him. "What're we stealing?"

"A Brotherhood. Lamia made the same offer to me that she made to Jake. His people aren't taking it. I am."

Parker and Hardison exchanged a long look. Then Parker said, "Okay. What do you need?"

"The Brotherhood's based out of the Chamblin House in London, so that's where we're headed," Eliot said. "Parker, scope out the building's security and staff, let me know what I'm facing. Hardison, I need two things from you."

"Name it," Hardison said.

"Anything you can find about challenging the Brotherhood's leader."

"And?"

"Quinn."

#

"Your job offers are always interesting, Eliot. What's interesting about this one?"

Eliot looked up from where he sat in the bar at the Holiday Inn his crew had chosen for their base of operations while they were in London. Mr. Quinn stood behind the chair opposite him, a familiar smirk on the other man's face.

Eliot took a sip from the pint he'd been nursing for the last hour before answering. Quinn was here - he was already ninety percent committed to the job, whatever it might be - so there was no need to rush.

"Infiltrate and overthrow a secret society," Eliot said finally.

"Sounds like fun." Quinn took a seat opposite him. "Do I have to work with those annoying hackers again?"

"Only the less annoying one, and only while he gets us the intel we need."

"Better and better. Terms?"

"Six figures a week. Shouldn't be more than two weeks."

"Is there a reason this secret society has earned your wrath?"

"Yes." Eliot didn't elaborate. That he had a twin was not generally known, and that kept Jake safe as much as anything else. He wouldn't tell anyone, especially not someone he only trusted conditionally, about Jake's existence. There was something he had to tell Quinn, though. "This job's different."

"How?"

"I won't hold back, like I did with Dubenich."

"You mean I have a chance to see the legendary Eliot Spencer? Excellent." Quinn looked up as a server brought him a pint, thanked her, then took a drink before looking at Eliot once again. "What do you need from me?"

"Watch my back."

Quinn blinked once, twice. "Eliot Spencer needs someone to watch his back. Your crew isn't enough?"

"Not for this." Eliot met Quinn's gaze directly. "They'll do recon, and Parker will probably be in there with us somewhere. But she doesn't know what to look for, and she - I don't want her doing what might need to be done."

Quinn nodded slowly. "You have a specific threat?"

"Her name's Lamia. She's high up in the organization - and the one that asked me to take it over."

"She have a reason?"

"Self-preservation. Plus some problem she has with the current leader." Which he hadn't asked about. He'd have to do that.

Quinn nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Like I said, your job offers are always interesting."

"You in?"

"I'm in." Quinn offered his hand and Eliot shook it. "When do we start?"

#

Eliot watched Lamia make her way through the tables at Ledbury, following the maître d'hotel. She wore a cream-colored dress that hugged her figure and accented her darker skin.

 _Dressed to kill,_ he thought, and hoped it wasn't literally true. He rose from his chair at her approach, allowed the maître d' to hold her chair for her.

"This is unexpected," Lamia said once they were alone at their table.

"My turn to pick someplace public to talk. I took the liberty of ordering the wine," he added with an easy grin, just to see how she'd react.

"Even more unexpected, cowboy."

That was the plan - keep her off guard just enough that he might get an honest answer out of her.

The sommelier arrived with Eliot's choice - a Bordeaux blend featuring merlot and Malbec - and, once Eliot tasted and approved the wine, poured for each of them. Eliot lifted his glass to Lamia.

"To challenges."

"Challenges," she repeated and took a sip. Her eyes widened and she took a second sip, apparently savoring the taste. "You are full of surprises, not least of which is how you managed to get reservations when Ledbury is booked solid six months out."

Hardison had worked his own brand of magic on the restaurant's reservation system, but Lamia didn't need to know that. "Let's just say I know people."

"Then you're a better choice than I'd first thought."

"Better than Dulaque," Eliot said.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Lamia hesitated, and Eliot leaned forward. "You said you have a problem with him, and it's not just that he'll kill you, is it?"

"No." It was more a quiet sigh than an actual word, but Eliot understood it anyway.

"Then what is it?" When she still hesitated, Eliot said, "I need to know. You tell me, or I don't do this."

Her gaze shifted down to her glass, and Eliot knew he'd won this challenge, at least.

"He's become obsessed," Lamia said finally. "And it's leading him to act dishonorably."

Eliot hadn't known what to expect, but her words were still surprising. "Dishonorably?"

"Yes."

"That matters to you?"

Now she met his gaze almost defiantly. "I know it appears hypocritical, given why we're here, but the Librarians are worthy adversaries, and always have been. What Dulaque has planned -"

She broke off, took another sip of wine, and just when Eliot was deciding she wasn't going to say anything else, Lamia took a breath and spoke again.

"Making that offer - deciding to make that offer - goes against everything I was taught, everything he taught me. But there's no honor in victory by his plan, and worse, there'll be no honor after he wins. Even if it were someone else he groomed for sacrifice. Someone else he used."

"I get it," Eliot said quietly. And he did. It was an odd reflection of why he'd finally walked away from Damien Moreau.

Only he hadn't walked so much as left a trail of destruction in his wake that sent a clear message to Moreau: _I'm out, and you'll let me go because if you don't, this is only the beginning._

Eliot brought his gaze back from the past to the woman sitting opposite him. Lamia was studying him in turn, and she gave him the faintest of smiles.

"I knew we were alike," she said.


	6. Chapter 6

In retrospect, Eliot shouldn't have been surprised by how easy it was to infiltrate the Brotherhood.

Parker brought back detailed information about their headquarters, only mildly annoyed that she hadn't had time to get into the vault in their basement. "It's the newest model from Glenn Reeder, and I don't know how long it'll take. But once you're in charge, I'll have all the time I want to learn it, right?"

There weren't many members of the Brotherhood, maybe a dozen, and Eliot might have been surprised by that, except Jake had told him there was only ever one Librarian, at least until recently. And then he'd thought about the saying that two people can keep a secret if one of them is dead, and it had all made sense.

Dulaque wanted it all for himself, and that made him no different than any of the marks Leverage, Inc., had taken down over the years. The only difference was that Dulaque couldn't be conned, couldn't be left alive because he was a magician in his own right, and therefore would be a threat as long as he lived.

Which wouldn't be long, if Eliot had anything to say about it.

When Hardison told him Dulaque was leaving for a week-long trip, and that Lamia was going with him, Eliot was ready.

The morning before Dulaque and Lamia were scheduled to return, with Quinn at his back, Eliot followed Parker into the Brotherhood's headquarters. "A secret society really should have a more secure headquarters," she complained.

"I'm not complaining," Quinn said. "Easiest money I've made in a while."

Then they'd made their way to the dining room – formal, as befit this Victorian building, Eliot thought – where they found a half-dozen men in identical black suits enjoying a breakfast of what looked like kippers, eggs and toast.

"Sorry to intrude, gentlemen," Eliot said. "Please don't get up."

The man nearest to him started to move, and Eliot lanced a glare his way. "No, please. Don't get up."

Quinn moved subtly forward into a fighting-ready stance, and Eliot shifted to his left to give Quinn a better line of attack.

Eliot watched the questioning glance run around the table, then the man nearest to him nodded once and settled back in his chair. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Eliot Spencer, and I'm here to challenge Dulaque for leadership of the Serpent Brotherhood."

The men visibly relaxed at that.

Amateurs, Eliot thought, and knew Quinn felt the same.

"He's not here," the man who seemed to be their spokesman said.

Eliot grinned. "We know."

After that it was a simple matter of, with Quinn's help, subduing and securing the men in what had likely once been the servants' quarters. Eliot didn't intend to be despotic, nor absolutely ruthless, but he couldn't have them sabotaging his plan, either.

Then all they had to do was wait for Dulaque to return.

Which gave them plenty of time to explore the Brotherhood's headquarters.

Including the library.

The library full of priceless antiquities.

"You're sure I can't have just one?" Quinn asked for the fifth time in as many hours. "I'll waive my entire cash fee."

Eliot gave the same answer he'd given the first four times. "No. Not until I'm master and have taken an inventory."

"But if I take it before you do the inventory, it won't matter that it's missing."

The logic was perfectly sound - Eliot might have used similar reasoning before he'd learned that magic really existed. But given the Brotherhood's interest in magical things, there was a better than even chance that at least some of the antiquities in the building's library had abilities that needed to be contained - or at least not released into the general population.

He couldn't tell Quinn that, but he had to deflect the man's interest somehow. He blew out a breath. He'd have to tell Quinn something… then he had it.

"Part of the inventory will be getting an expert in here to authenticate them," Eliot said. "Do you want to risk trying to sell a fake? It'd ruin your rep."

That logic, too, was sound - and sounder than Quinn's had been. Quinn gave an exaggerated sigh. "All right, I'll wait for your expert. Who are you thinking of getting? Abromov's on loan to Baghdad for the foreseeable future, so he's out. What about Perlmutter, out of Yale?"

"I'm thinking Maggie Collins," Eliot said.

"Good choice. If she's available."

Eliot bit back a smile. "She will be."

"For the right price, anyone is."

"Dr. Collins is a friend," Eliot said. "She helped out the first job you took for me."

Quinn's mouth quirked. "Odd that I don't remember meeting her."

"It was a one-time deal. She's not in the game. C'mon, let's get some sleep."

Eliot gestured Quinn to the stairs, dropping far enough behind that he could whisper without the other man hearing. "Parker?"

"On it," her answer came immediately through his earbud. Then Parker sighed. "It'll be weird, keeping an eye on those things, instead of stealing them."

"Don't fret," Eliot told her. "There's no security for you to sneak past. Stealing 'em would be more boring than stealing the Hope Diamond again."

"Oh. That's all right, then. I'm in position."

"Already?" And then Eliot kicked himself. Of course she was already in position - she was Parker.

"Good night, Eliot." In an odd moment of synchronicity, the farewell came from Quinn and Parker at the same time.

"Night," Eliot replied to both of them, and turned into the room he'd chosen for his own. In less than twelve hours, this would be over.

#

Eliot and Quinn were playing chess in what might have been the parlor when Hardison's voice came through Eliot's earbud.

"Car pulling up outside, two men and a woman getting out and heading to the front door."

"Thanks," Eliot muttered. He looked up at Quinn. "Showtime."

"Good timing." Quinn moved his king's bishop. "Mate in three."

Eliot studied the board. Checkmate wasn't guaranteed, of course - Eliot saw a way out of the trap Quinn was preparing - but right now he wasn't focused on the game and didn't care about the outcome.

He tipped his king. "Mate in three. Good game."

They were shaking hands when the front door opened. In the seconds before the new arrivals realized they weren't alone, Eliot studied them.

The first man wore a dark suit and had the same air of amateur competence that the men imprisoned upstairs had. Probably not Dulaque, then. Behind him came Lamia, and Eliot couldn't disagree with the appreciative rumble Quinn made.

The second man, the balding one - that must be Dulaque. He stood tall, a couple of inches over six feet, and had the bearing and grace of a fighter. His instincts had dulled, though, Eliot decided. Otherwise, Dulaque would already be aware of their presence.

Lamia sensed them first, turning toward them with a snarl. "You dare break in to this house?"

"I dare a lot of things." Eliot rose from his chair. "Including claiming leadership of the Serpent Brotherhood."

The tall man laughed in a condescending manner that would do any drill sergeant proud. "Who are you to think you can challenge me?"

Eliot grinned. "Accept the challenge and find out."

"I've killed more Librarians than you've seen stars."

Eliot felt Quinn's curiosity almost as though it were a tangible thing, but he ignored it, instead keeping his focus on Dulaque and Lamia. The other man wasn't a threat.

"That mean you accept?"

Dulaque scowled. "You're hardly worth the effort, Librarian."

"I ain't a Librarian. Pistols at twenty paces?"

Dulaque sniffed. "So crude. No, if you must challenge, it will be done in the traditional manner. Swords."

"Swords. Huh." Quinn actually sounded surprised.

"Who's this?" Dulaque looked past Eliot to Quinn.

"Quinn. My second," Eliot said easily. "We doing this now, or do you want to talk some more? Or maybe you need to get over your jet lag first? Can't have people thinking this wasn't fairly done."

Dulaque snarled. "I don't need to rest to defeat you. This way."

Lamia didn't even glance at him as she fell in behind Dulaque, and Eliot gave her credit for that. Quinn fell into step beside him.

"You sure about this?" Quinn asked, low. "He's got a lot of reach on you – and swords? What do you know about sword-fighting?"

"More than you think," Eliot answered, equally low. "And yeah, I'm sure. Just keep an eye on Lamia and the rent-a-thug. It'll be fine."

Rather than being dark and dank, the basement Dulaque led them into was all modern lines, light gray walls and a dark, padded floor. One wall was filled with swords of varying lengths and styles, mostly spatha and arming swords, Carolingian and Viking swords. A few dueling and basket-hilted swords were dotted amongst them.

"All Western styles," Quinn noted. "Some of them look original."

"Most of them are original." Lamia gave Quinn a tight smile before turning to Eliot. "I don't know why you brought a second. There are no rules for a challenge."

"There's one rule for this one," Eliot said.

Dulaque barked a laugh. "You challenge me, and you think you can make rules?"

"You'll want this rule," Eliot told him. "It's just us in the fight, you and me. Quinn doesn't interfere, she doesn't interfere, Billy Bob in the corner over there doesn't interfere. It's just you and me."

"That goes without saying."

"You can say that," Eliot agreed. "Quinn's here to make sure of it."

"I suppose you wouldn't understand the honor of the dueling field," Dulaque said. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, held it out expectantly. Lamia took it from him a moment later, retreated to stand beside the display of swords.

"I understand that honor lies in actions, not words," Eliot countered.

"Choose your weapon," Dulaque ordered.

It was a shame, Eliot thought, that no Far Eastern swords were included in the display. Ever since Nate and Sophie had given him the Hanzo sword, he'd developed a fondness for those styles, from the katana to the chokuto, to the tachi and the nagamaki. But he was familiar enough with Western swords for this fight.

Eliot tested a couple before settling on a spatha that felt as though it had been made for him. Maybe, if what Lamia had said were true in any way, it had been made for one of his ancestors? Eliot shoved the thought aside. Letting your mind wander during a fight was the fastest way to get killed besides a sniper's bullet.

Eliot crossed to the center of the room, facing Dulaque. The taller man had chosen a knight's arming sword, about the same length as the spatha but with a cross-guard. They offered each other a fencer's salute, then settled into ready stances.

"Ready?" Lamia asked. Eliot nodded once, watched Dulaque do the same.

It was Quinn who made it official. "Begin."

Dulaque went on the attack immediately, and Eliot stayed defensive, learning the other man's fighting style. Dulaque was direct almost to the point of bluntness, Eliot realized, probably accustomed to using brute force to overcome his opponents. Given the man's height and reach, it was a strategy that had likely served him well.

Too bad for him that Eliot relied on speed and cunning at least as much as he did on strength. Eliot kept to the defensive, blocking and dodging Dulaque's swings and thrusts, waiting for the other man to lose his cool.

"Why won't you fight?" Dulaque ground out.

"Waiting for you to make it interesting," Eliot shot back, parrying another thrust.

"You're a coward," Dulaque said. "Afraid to fight, just like you're afraid to publish under your own name."

Dulaque struck again, and Eliot sensed the change in his opponent. Dulaque was tiring, if only a little, and summoning some anger to power a final, finishing rally.

It was the opening Eliot had been waiting for.

Eliot ducked under Dulaque's next swing, lunged forward to drive the other man backward until he slammed into the wall, his breath coming out with a _whoof_.

"For the record – it's not cowardice," Eliot said. "It's compassion."

"Compassion," Dulaque spat. "Just another name for cowardice."

Dulaque struggled against Eliot's weight, but Eliot was braced and ready. "You think that if you want."

Then he drove the spatha home.

#

Eliot looked at Lamia. Her gaze was fixed on him - no, on Dulaque's lifeless body. Eliot gathered Quinn with a glance, and together the two of them lowered Dulaque to the floor. Lamia stepped forward and knelt beside him.

"I loved you," she said, "but this was necessary. I'm sorry."

She covered Dulaque's face with his suit jacket. Then she looked back to Eliot. "Where are the others?"

"Secured in the servants' quarters," Eliot told her, then looked at Quinn. "Bring them down here. Take Billy Bob."

Quinn nodded and disappeared up the stairs, the rent-a-thug in tow.

"He doesn't know about Jake," Eliot told Lamia. "And he won't. Neither will the rest of them. Got that?"

"Got it." Lamia seemed subdued now, and for a moment Eliot regretted that he couldn't leave her to grieve in peace, but she'd begun this play and now she had to see it out.

Still, he pitched his tone for comfort when he said, "Hold it together just a little longer."

Lamia swallowed and nodded, then rose, her impassively professional mask in place.

"They don't know about our arrangement," Lamia said as footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Eliot gave her a grim smile. "They won't."

So when the rest of the Brotherhood arrived, Quinn unobtrusively standing at their rear, Eliot introduced himself as Adam Sinclair. A couple of the men recognized the name, which made Eliot's story about Dulaque putting the Brotherhood at risk more credible.

Eliot had never been a grifter, not like Sophie Devereaux or even Tara Cole, but he could play a role with the best of them. The role he was called on to play now, that of friendly conqueror, came more easily than most thanks to years in the service and then working for Damien Moreau. Even his work with Leverage, Inc., in all its many forms helped him with the role.

By the time he had spun his tale, Quinn had a thoughtful expression on his face, and Lamia looked honestly surprised, and maybe even a little impressed.

You had no idea what you were getting into, didja, darlin'?Eliot thought. It gets more interesting from here.

He spent the rest of the afternoon familiarizing himself with the building and its contents. Lamia acted as tour guide, and it wasn't until they were nearly back at the library when he said, "I'll want all of these artifacts inventoried and authenticated."

Lamia frowned at him. "Are you implying the Brotherhood doesn't know what it has?"

"I'm not implying anything," Eliot said. "I'm saying that I don't know what's here, and just like any new owner of a company, I'm bringing in an auditor."

Her lips tightened, but either she'd decided this wasn't a fight she was going to win, or she just didn't care enough to try. "Fine. Who's the auditor?"

In answer, Eliot pulled out his phone and tapped his contacts. Then Maggie's voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Collins," Eliot said. "It's Adam Sinclair. Sorry for calling so early," he added, belatedly realizing that Los Angeles was eight hours behind London.

"Eliot? Is something wrong?"

"I'm hoping you can clear your schedule for a week or so. I've recently come into possession of a private collection that I need inventoried and authenticated."

When she spoke again, Maggie sounded far more curious than concerned. "A real collection, not one of your … jobs?"

"Yes," Eliot said. "In London. Are you available?"

"For you? I can be there by Friday."

"Excellent. Send me your flight details, and I'll have someone meet you at the airport."

Eliot ended the call and smiled at the stony expression on Lamia's face. "You wanted me to take over, darlin'. So I did."

Lamia's grimace became a scowl, then she turned and stalked off. Eliot watched after her. No doubt she'd be plotting his own demise - he would be, if he were in her place. But better him than Jake.

#

Eliot wasn't surprised when his bedroom door opened at a few minutes before one a.m. He'd thought the men were hired muscle, but even hired muscle could show loyalty to more than a paycheck.

Eliot was surprised when the person who slipped into his room was Lamia. Then he thought he shouldn't be – she might have wanted Dulaque dead before he could kill her, but she'd said she loved Dulaque. She might want revenge as much as she'd wanted to live.

He waited, his focus inward and his breathing controlled so maybe Lamia wouldn't realize he was awake until she made her move.

But instead of moving to strike, Lamia was lifting the covers.

"You don't want to do this," Eliot said.

Lamia paused, and even in the darkness of the room, Eliot could see her surprise, but whether she was surprised that he'd spoken or at what he'd said, he didn't know.

"I promised you more," she said.

"You offered, not promised. Either way, you don't want to do this."

Lamia sat on the edge of the bed, leaned toward him. "Are you saying you're not interested?"

"I'm saying you're not interested," Eliot corrected her. "You weren't interested when you kissed me at the museum, and you sure aren't interested right after the death of the man you said you love."

She looked away, and her silence spoke more loudly than any words she might've said.

Eliot sat up, reached out to cup her chin and turn her head so they faced each other. "In any case, I ain't the kind of guy who'd take you up on it. I did this for Jake, not for you. You don't owe me anything."

"Except a thank you, for saving my life."

"Assuming he really would have killed you."

"That's a certainty, not an assumption."

"Maybe," Eliot allowed. "Still, you don't owe me anything. Especially this. This is never owed."

The shift of shadows on her face might mean she'd smiled, Eliot thought. Certainly her tone was a bit warmer when she said, "Good night, then."

Long after the door closed behind her, Eliot lay awake. That decision, as easy as it was, was only the first of many he had to make. He'd stolen a Brotherhood. What was he supposed to do with it?

L/L - L/L - L/L

I'd apologize for leaving it there, but I'm not really sorry (grin). The next story will explore the consequences of Eliot's decision, and will be posted as soon as it's done, which may be after Thanksgiving, as we have travel plans for the holiday.


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